The Houseguest
by ncfan
Summary: Of inconvenient housing arrangements and unlikely friendships. Ishida, Ukitake.


**Characters**: Ishida, Ukitake**  
Pairings**: None**  
Warnings/Spoilers**: None**  
Timeline**: Anywhere post-Soul Society arc.**  
Disclaimer**: I don't own Bleach.

* * *

Ishida frowned tensely at the sound of a cough coming from his tiny living room. Why the hell did it have to be him? Why was it _always_ him?

Personally, Ishida didn't understand _why_ the ailing Ukitake-taicho had to be put on forced medical leave and transferred to Earth as part of that medical leave, let alone why _he_ was the one who had to take him in. Urahara and Ichigo had much more space where they lived; Kurosaki's father operated a _clinic_, for crying out loud!

It wasn't like Ukitake-taicho was…obnoxious, or anything. He spent his time entertaining himself by reading books off of Ishida's bookshelf, and the only time he made himself heard was to cough. But still, Ishida was _definitely_ chagrined at the housing arrangements.

Taking a moment to think, Ishida recalled why it had been insisted. Ukitake-taicho, Ishida understood, wasn't the only one who had been put on forced leave. If Ishida was correct, Rukia and Renji were crashing at Kurosaki's home. Byakuya had been forced into staying with Urahara. Orihime was happily entertaining Hitsugaya-taicho, Matsumoto, and Kira. Finally, Chad was boarding Kyouraku-taicho and Ise Nanao. There may have been others; he couldn't be sure.

Vacations, the government levels of Seireitei were calling it. For their own good, they were saying.

_Vacations, sure._

Another cough rang through the otherwise silent air.

_This is so crazy. This is without a doubt the strangest situation I have ever been with, and that includes all the stupid stuff Kurosaki's ever pulled._

The way Kurosaki had put it, Ukitake needed a clean environment, and word had gotten around pretty quickly that Ishida was a neat freak. Or, rather, Orihime, speaking for Kurosaki, told Ishida that Ukitake needed a clean environment while he was all but exiled to Earth.

Ishida groaned mentally, admitting that if it hadn't been Orihime, he might have said no. After Orihime had left, smiling buoyantly, Ishida flushed Kurosaki out of the bush he had been hiding in.

"_Look, next time you need a favor, ask me yourself! Don't send Inoue-san over like a sacrificial lamb, for God's sake!"_

"_Would you have said yes if I had been the one who asked?"_

"…"

"_Exactly! Ishida, just let Ukitake-san stay with you. What harm will it do?"_

"_And where am I supposed to put him? Kurosaki, I don't exactly have room for an indefinite boarder."_

"_You have a couch, don't you? Use that!"_

It still surprised Ishida that Ukitake had chosen to sleep on the futon. He had offered the bed, and since it was clear to Ishida that the white-haired captain had a genuine medical ailment, he had assumed that Ukitake would have preferred to sleep there. Ishida was willing to sleep on the futon (it wasn't bad for a couch, he had to admit), albeit grudgingly, but no, Ukitake had insisted.

A third rack of coughing sounded, and Ishida took the liberty of pouring a glass of water, the glass clinking against his fingernails.

With some difficulty, Ishida maneuvered through the small living room; between the pulling out of the futon and the pushing of the coffee table against the wall, there was very little walking space left in the living room. Silently, he held the glass out to Ukitake. While he had not accepted his boarder in the best of graces, Ishida knew full well he couldn't afford to have the man dying on his couch; he'd probably end up drowning in the accumulated paperwork.

Ukitake's brown eyes crinkled warmly as he accepted the glass, smiling gratefully. "Thank you, Ishida-san. I'm sorry—" after a sip of water he broke off into coughing again "—but I just can't seem to stop coughing today. I hope I won't keep you up too late."

Ishida nodded stiffly, and neglected to tell Ukitake that if anything was going to keep him awake past midnight, it would be the heavy footsteps of the tenants upstairs, running roughshod over the halls and their own furniture, yet again. Most of the residents of that apartment complex were college students, anyway.

While Ukitake was drinking the glass of water, Ishida moved back to the kitchen table, and flipped open his school books. He needed to get his homework done some time or another. After a moment of staring at numbers, Ishida retrieved his calculator from his room. He was probably going to need it.

"Good grief, is this trigonometry?" That voice, filled to the brim with sympathetic humor, indicated to Ishida that Ukitake was feeling well enough to climb off of the futon, as he placed his glass strategically away from Ishida's papers and sat down at the other chair. Ishida had always wondered why he had two chairs at the kitchen table, considering he hardly ever entertained company; the only person who ever came over was Orihime, who tended to get worried that he had been killed by a Hollow if he didn't show up for school. He found her concern to be both touching and faintly invasive.

Again, Ishida nodded silently, biting back his faint annoyance with his current living arrangements, as Ukitake examined one of the papers he had discarded for the moment. Black brows escalated with an odd amusement.

"What's so funny?" Ishida asked, unable to keep a bite of indignation out of his voice; he'd always despised being laughed at.

Ukitake didn't respond immediately; only after he had put the paper down and took another sip of water did he speak. "I've just been thinking that you remind me eerily of Ise-san—Shunsui's lieutenant," he explained when he saw Ishida's uncomprehending expression. "You have the same disposition, and you look very much alike too. She does all of the division's taxes, as well, so this is evoking a familiar image in my mind."

Ishida didn't quite know what to say to that, as the white-haired man took a sip out of his water glass serenely, completely unaware of the confusion he had instilled in his somewhat unwilling host. Then, the familiar bout of coughing ensued.

"What was it you said you were ailing from, Ukitake-san?" Ishida was frowning pensively, not the "displeased" frown, but the somewhat perturbed, unwillingly concerned frown. And in fact, Ukitake had _not_ said what his condition was; Ishida was just curious, and didn't want to ask directly.

"Tuberculosis."

Ishida gaped at him. "But…but…that's…contagious," he stuttered lamely, eyes open wide.

"Not in my case," Ukitake corrected him, smiling gently.

Ishida shook his head. "Ukitake-san, tuberculosis is a _highly_ contagious bacterial infection—"

Ukitake cut him off, the smile never leaving his face, the warmth never leaving his eyes. "In my case, the tuberculosis is not contagious. Believe me, Ishida-san, if it were, Unohana-taicho would not allow me to run loose across Seireitei; she is a more responsible person than that."

Reluctantly, Ishida nodded; the man had a point. "I…see." On faith, he was just going to take Ukitake's word for it that his tuberculosis was not contagious (he remained unconvinced), and if he got sick later, then he would know who to blame. After a long, pregnant pause, he inquired, morbidly curious, "How long… have you had this condition?"

Apparently, Ukitake had to indulge the curiosity of the ignorant fairly often, because he didn't so much as bat an eyelash to the impertinent request; then again, Ukitake had the reputation of being, quite easily, the least-offensive of the captains, which was the _real_ reason he had been boarded with Ishida in the first place (Not that Ishida knew of this, of course). "Since I was a small child."

Ishida winced involuntarily. If Rukia's estimates were to be believed, then for Ukitake, the time when he had been a small child was _long_ past. And there was a small measure of sympathy; Ishida didn't exactly enjoy robust health himself. "You know," Ishida ventured, uncharacteristically hesitant, as he watched Ukitake finish off his glass, "they have medicine for that now." He reached for the glass and, out of empty habit, refilled it in the sink and handed it back to Ukitake, who nodded.

"Unohana-taicho has looked into that. They have tried all the treatments, but none have prevailed." Ukitake's voice was strangely impersonal now. "The only conclusion she can reach is that the strain has mutated into a bacterial strain resistant to all currently known treatments."

Being a doctor's son, Ishida understood enough medical lingo to understand what he had just been told; he nodded.

Changing the subject, Ukitake cast his brown eyes towards the refrigerator. "Do you have anything to eat?"

"Not…not much," Ishida admitted, secretly mortified; the grocery store was expensive, not to mention attractive to an unsavory crowd, so he rarely went there. "I have some of those microwaveable dinners left."

Not intending to be audible but ending up that way anyhow, Ukitake muttered, "This is why I think children should live with their parents until they're old enough to take care of themselves." In an even quieter undertone, he added, "No wonder the poor boy's so thin." Ishida wondered if he was even aware that he was speaking out loud.

In a change of heart towards his houseguest, Ishida decided not to take offense at what, on close inspection, would probably be revealed to be a comment of well-meaning but clumsy concern. Life was just too short. "Are you hungry?"

Ukitake held up a hand and smiled. "Later, perhaps. I was just making sure."

Ishida went back to his trig homework.

.

Later that night, Ishida was awoken, not to the sound of footsteps over his head, but of wheezing coughs coming from the living room.

He laid, flat on his bed, taking a moment to process what he was hearing.

_He really is very sick._

Reaching for his glasses in the darkness, Ishida got out of bed without turning on the lamp, mind set on the medicine cabinet in his bathroom.

.

The living room light flicked on, and Ukitake sat up, brown eyes bloodshot, confused, and faintly incredulous, as he flicked his long, bone-white hair out of his face. "Ishida-san? What is it?"

Ishida held out a small bottle full of thick, viscous purple liquid to him, trying to keep his voice level. "Here. Cough syrup; it's the strongest I can get at the grocery store without a prescription. It tastes awful, but it'll put you out and it should ease your throat."

A sharp, grateful gleam shot through Ukitake's eyes as he took the bottle from him. "Thank you, Ishida-san. This should help a great deal."

Ishida nodded silently, and thought to himself that he was only doing this because Ukitake reminded him of his grandfather. That and Ishida needed his sleep.

_Yeah… Just keep telling yourself that._


End file.
